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Extols the treasures of his stormy seas,
And his long nights of revelry and ease :
The naked Negro, panting at the Line,
Boasts of his golden sands, and palmy wine, REMOTE, unfriended, melancholy, slow,
Basks in the glare or stems the tepid wave, Or by the lazy Scheld, or wandering Po;
And thanks his gods for all the good they gave. Or onward, where the rude Carinthian boor Such is the patriot's boast, where'er we roam, Against the houseless stranger shuts the door ; His first, best country, ever is at home. Or where Campania's plain forsaken lies,
And yet, perhaps, if countries we compare, A weary waste expanding to the skies;
And estimate the blessings which they share, Where'er I roam, whatever realms to see,
Though patriots flatter, still shall wisdom find My heart, untraveld, fondly turns to thee : An equal portion dealt to all mankind : Still to my brother turns with ceaseless pain, As diff'rent good, by Art or Nature giv'n And drags at each remove a length’ning chain. To diff'rent nations, makes their blessings ev'n.
Eternal blessings crown my earliest friend, Nature, a mother kind alike to all, And round his dwelling guardian saints attend; Still grants her bliss at labor's earnest call; Blest be that spot, where cheerful guests retire With food as well the peasant is supplied To pause from toil, and trim their ev'ning fire ; On Idra's cliff as Arno's shelvy side; Blest that abode, where want and pain repair, And though the rocky-crested summits frown, And ev'ry stranger finds a ready chair;
These rocks, by custom, turn to beds of down. Blest be those feasts with simple plenty crown'd, From art more various are the blessings sent; Where all the ruddy family around
Wealth, commerce, honor, liberty, content: Laugh at the jests or pranks that never fail, Yet these each other's pow'r so strong contest, Or sigh with pity at some mournful tale;
That either seems destructive of the rest. Or press the bashful stranger to his food,
Where wealth and freedom reign, contentment fails, And learn the luxury of doing good.
And honor sinks where commerce long prevails. But me, not destin'd such delights to share, Hence every state, to one lov'd blessing prone, My prime of life in wand'ring spent and care; Conforms and models life to that alone: Impelld with steps unceasing to pursue
Each to the favorite happiness attends, Some fleeting good, that mocks me with the view; And spurns the plan that aims at other ends ; That, like the circle bounding earth and skies, Till, carried to excess in each domain, Allures from far, yet, as I follow, flies;
This fav'rite good begets peculiar pain. My fortune leads to traverse realms alone,
But let us try these truths with closer eyes, And find no spot of all the world my own. And trace them through the prospect as it lies
Ev'n now, where Alpine solitudes ascend, Here for a while, my proper cares resign'd, sit me down a pensive hour to spend;
Here let me sit in sorrow for mankind;
When thus creation's charms around combine, Its uplands sloping deck the mountain's side,
While oft some temple's mould'ring tops between
The sons of Italy were surely blest. And wiser he, whose sympathetic mind
Whatever fruits in diff'rent climes are found, Exults in all the good of all mankind. (crown'd, That proudly rise or humbly court the ground; Ye glitt'ring towns, with wealth and splendor Whatever blooms in torrid tracts appear, Ye fields, where summer spreads profusion round, Whose bright succession decks the varied year; Ye lakes, whose vessels catch the busy gale, Whatever sweets salute the northern sky Ye bending swains, that dress the flow'ry vale, With vernal lives, that blossom but to die; For me your tributary stores combine ;
These here disporting own the kindred soil, Creation's heir, the world, the world is mine. Nor ask luxuriance from the planter's toil; As some lone miser, visiting his store,
While sea-born gales their gelid wings expand Bends at his treasure, counts, recounts it o'er, To winnow fragrance round the smiling land. Hoards after hoards his rising raptures fill,
But small the bliss that sense alone bestows, Yet still he sighs, for hoards are wanting still; And sensual bliss is all the nation knows. Thus to my breast alternate passions rise,
In florid beauty groves and fields appear, Pleas'd with each good that Heav'n to man supplies ; Man seems the only growth that dwindles here. Yet oft a sigh prevails, and sorrows fall,
Contrasted faults through all his manners reign ; To see the hoard of human bliss so small;
Though poor, luxurious; though submissive, vair , And oft I wish, amidst the scene to find
Though grave, yet trifling; zealous, yet untrue; Some spot to real happiness consign'd,
And ev'n in penance planning sins anew.
That opulence departed leaves behind;
At her command the palace learnt to rise, Boldly proclaims that happiest spot his own; Again the long-fall'n column sought the skies:
The canvass glow'd, beyond e'en Nature warm, So the loud torrent, and the whirlwind's roar, The pregnant quarry teem'd with human form: But bind him to his native mountains more. Till, more unsteady than the southern gale,
Such are the charms to barren stales assign'd Commerce on other shores display'd her sail ; Their wants but few, their wishes all confin'd: While nought remain'd of all that riches gave, Yet let them only share the praises due, But towns unmann'd, and lords without a slave : If few their wants, their pleasures are but few, And late the nation found, with fruitless skill, For ev'ry want that stimulates the breast Its former strength was but plethoric ill.
Becomes a source of pleasure when redrest : Yet still the loss of wealth is here supplied Whence from such lands each pleasing science flies By arts, the splendid wrecks of former pride; That first excites desire, and then supplies ; From these the feeble heart and long-fall'n mind Unknown to them, when sensual pleasures cloy, An easy compensation seem to find.
To fill the languid pause with finer joy ; Here may be seen, in bloodless pomp array'd, Unknown those pow'rs that raise the soul to flame, The pasteboard triumph and the cavalcade: Catch ev'ry nerve, and vibrate through the frame. Processions form’d for piety and love,
Their level life is but a mould'ring fire, A mistress or a saint in ev'ry grove.
Unquench'd by want, unfann'd by strong desire ; By sports like these are all their cares beguild, Unfit for raptures, or, if raptures cheer The sports of children satisfy the child :
On some high festival of once a year, Each nobler aim, represt by long control,
In wild excess the vulgar breast takes fire, Now sinks at last, or feebly mans the soul; Till, buried in debauch, the bliss expire. While low delights, succeeding fast behind,
But not their joys alone thus coarsely flow; In happier meanness occupy the mind :
Their morals, like their pleasures, are but low; As in those domes, where Cæsars once bore sway, For, as refinement stops, from sire to son Defac'd by time, and tott'ring in decay,
Unalter'd, unimprov'd, the manners run; There in the ruin, heedless of the dead,
And love's and friendship's finely-pointed dart The shelter-seeking peasant builds his shed ; Falls blunted from each indurated heart. And, wond'ring man could want the larger pile, Some sterner virtues o'er the mountain's breast Exults, and owns his cottage with a smile. May sit, like falcons cow'ring on the nest :
My soul, turn from them, turn we to survey But all the gentler morals, such as play Where rougher climes a nobler race display, Thro' life's more cultur'd walks, and charm the way, Where the bleak Swiss their stormy mansions tread, These, far dispers’d, on tim'rous pinions fly, And force a churlish soil for scanty bread: To sport and Autter in a kinder sky. No product here the barren hills afford
To kinder skies, where gentler manners reign, But man and steel, the soldier and his sword: |I turn; and France displays her bright domain: No vernal blooms their torpid rocks array,
Gay sprightly land of mirth and social ease, But winter ling'ring chills the lap of May: Pleas'd with thyself, whom all the world can please, No zephyr fondly sues the mountain's breast, How often have I led thy sportive choir, But meteors glare, and stormy glooms invest. With tuneless pipe, beside the murm'ring Loire !
Yet still, e'en here, content can spread a charm, Where shading elms along the margin grew, Redress the clime, and all its rage disarm.
And freshen'd from the wave the zephyr flew: Though poor the peasant's hut, his feasts tho'small, And haply, though my harsh touch, falt'ring still, He sees his little lot the lot of all;
But mock'd all tune, and marr'd the dancers' skill Sees no contiguous palace rear its head,
Yet would the village praise my wond'rous pow'r, To shame the meanness of his humble shed; And dance, forgetful of the noontide hour. No costly lord the sumptuous banquet deal, Alike all ages. Dames of ancient days To make him lothe bis vegetable meal;
Have led their children thro' the mirthful maze; But calm, and bred in ignorance and toil,
And the gay grandsire, skill'd in gestic lore, Each wish contracting, fits him to the soil. Has frisk'd beneath the burthen of threescore. Cheerful, at morn, he wakes from short repose,
So blest a life these thoughtless realms display, Breathes the keen air, and carols as he goes ; Thus idly busy rolls their world away : With patient angle trolls the finny deep,
Theirs are those arts that mind to mind endear, Or drives his vent'rous plowshare to the steep; For honor forms the social temper here : Or seeks the den where snow-tracks mark the way, Honor, that praise which real merit gains, And drags the struggling savage into day. Or e'en imaginary worth obtains, At night returning, ev'ry labor sped,
Here passes current; paid from hand to hand, He sits him down the monarch of a shed;
Il shifts, in splendid traffic, round the land : Smiles by his cheerful fire, and round surveys From courts, to camps, to cottages it strays, His children's looks, that brighten at the blaze; And all are taught an avarice of praise; While his lov'd partner, boastful of her hoard, They please, are pleas'd, they give to get esteem, Displays her cleanly platter on the board :
Till, sceming blest, they grow to what they seem And haply too some pilgrim, thither led,
| But while this softer art their bliss supplies, With many a tale repays the nightly bed.
It gives their follies also room to rise ; Thus ev'ry good his native wilds impart For praise too dearly lov'd, or warmly sought, Imprints the patriot passion on his heart;
Enfeebles all internal strength of thought; And e'en those hills, that round his mansion rise, And the weak soul, within itself unblest, Enhance the bliss his scanty fund supplies : , Leans for all pleasure on another's breast. Dear is that shed to which his soul conforms, Hence ostentation here, with tawdry art And dear that hill which lifts him to the storms; Pants for the vulgar praise which fools impart; And as a child, when scaring sounds molest, Here Vanity assumes her pert grimace, Clings close and closer to the mother's breast, And trims her robes of frieze with copper lace;
Here beggar pride defrauds hər daily cheer, Ferments arise, imprison'd factions roar,
Nor this the worst. As nature's ties decay, Embosom'd in the deep where Holland lies. As duty, love, and honor, fail to sway, Methinks her patient sons before me stand, Fictitious bonds, the bonds of wealth and law, Where the broad ocean leans against the land, Still gather strength, and force unwilling awe. And, sedulous to stop the coming tide,
llence all obedience bows to these alone, Lift the tall rampire's artificial pride.
And talent sinks, and merit weeps unknown; Onward, methinks, and diligently slow,
Till time may come, when, stript of all her charms, The firm connected bulwark seems to grow; The land of scholars, and the nurse of arms, Spreads its long arms amidst the wat'ry roar, Where noble stems transmit the patriot flame, Scoops out an empire, and usurps the shore: Where kings have toil'd, and poets wrote for fame, While the pent ocean, rising o'er the pile,
One sink of level avarice shall lie,
Yet think not, thus when freedom's ills I state, The willow-tufted bank, the gliding sail,
I mean to flatter kings, or court the great: The crowded mart, the cultivated plain,
Ye pow'rs of truth, that bid my soul aspire, A new creation rescu'd from his reign.
Far from my bosom drive the low desire ! Thus, while around the wave-subjected soil And thou, fair Freedom, taught alike to feel Inipels the native to repeated toil,
The rabble's rage, the tyrant's angry steel; Industrious habits in each bosom reign,
Thou transitory flow'r, alile undone And industry begets a love of gain.
By proud contempt, or favor's sost’ring sun; Hence all the good from opulence that springs, Still may thy blooms the changeful clime endure With all those ills superfluous treasure brings, I only would repress them to secure; Are here display'd. Their much-lov'd wealth For just experience tells, in ev'ry soil, imparts
That those who think must govern those that toil Convenience, plenty, elegance, and aris;
And all that freedom's highest aims can reach But view them closer, craft and fraud appear, Is but to lay proportion'd loads on each. E'en liberty itself is barter'd here.
Hence, should one order disproportion'd grow, At gold's superior charms all freedom flies,
Ils double weight must ruin all below. The needy sell it, and the rich man buys;
Oh then how blind to all that truth requires, A land of tyrants, and a den of slaves,
Who think it freedom when a part aspires! Here wretches seek dishonorable graves,
Calm is my soul, nor apt to rise in arms, And, calmly bent, to servitude conform,
Except when fast-approaching danger warms: Dull as their lakes that slumber in the storm. But when contending chiefs blockade the throne,
Heav'ns! how unlike their Belgic sires of old! Contracting regal pow'r to stretch their own; Rough, poor, content, ungovernably bold;
When I behold a factious band agree War in each breast, and freedom on each brow; To call it freedom when themselves are free ; How much unlike the sons of Britain now! Each wanton judge new penal statutes draw,
Fir'd at the sound, my genius spreads her wing, Laws grind the poor, and rich men rule the law; And flies where Britain courts the western spring; The wealth of climes, where savage nations roam Where lawns extend that scorn Arcadian pride, Pillag'd from slaves to purchase slaves at home; And brighter streams than fam'd Hydaspis glide; Fear, pity, justice, indignation, start, 'There all around the gentlest breezes stray, Tear off reserve, and bare my swelling heart; There gentle music melts on every spray;
Till, half a patriot, half a coward grown, Creation's mildest charms are there combin'd, I fly from petty tyrants to the throne. Extremes are only in the master's mind;
Yes, brother, curse with me that baleful hour, Stern o'er each bosom reason holds her state, When first ambition struck at regal pow'r; With daring aims irregularly great;
And thus, polluting honor in its source, Pride in their port, defiance in their eye, Gave wealth to sway the mind with double force. I see the lords of human-kind pass by;
Have we not seen, round Britain's peopled shore, Intent on high designs, a thoughtful band, Her useful sons exchang'd for useless ore ? By forms unfashion'd, fresh from Nature's hand, Seen all her triumphs but destruction haste, Fierce in their native hardiness of soul,
Like flaring tapers brightning as they waste? True to imagin'd right, above control;
Seen Opulence, her grandeur to maintain,
And over fields where scaiter'd hamlets rose, Thine, Freedom, thine the blessings pictur'd in barren solitary pomp repose ? here,
Have we not seen, at Pleasure's lordly call, Thine are those charms that dazzle and endear; The smiling long-frequented village fall ? Too blest indeed were such without alloy; Beheld the duteous son, the sire decay'd, But foster'd e'en by freedom, ills annoy;
The modest matron, and the blushing maid, That independence Britons prize too high,
Forc'd from their homes, a melancholy train, Keeps man from man, and breaks the social tie; To traverse climes beyond the western main, The self-dependent lordlings stand alone,
Where wild Oswego spreads her swamps around. All claims that bind and sweeten life unknown; And Niagara stuns with thund'ring sound? Here, by the bonds of nature feebly held,
E'en now, perhaps, as there some pilgrim strays Minds combat minds, repelling and repellid; Thro' tangled forests, and thro' dangerous ways,
While beasts with man divided empire claim, No more thy glassy brook reflects the day,
The hollow-sounding bittern guards its nest;
Amidst thy desert walks the lapwing flies, To stop too fearful, and too faint to go,
And tires their echoes with unvaried cries. Casts a long look where England's glories shine, Sunk are thy bow'ss in shapeless ruin all, And bids his bosom sympathize with mine. And the long grass o'ertops the mould'ring wall.
Vain, very vain, my weary search to find And, trembling, shrinking from the spoiler's hand That bliss which only centres in the mind. Far, far away thy children leave the land. Why have I stray'd from pleasure and repose, Il fares the land, to bast'ning ills a prey, To seek a good each government bestows ? Where wealth accumulates, and men decay; In ev'ry government, though terrors reign,
Princes and lords may flourish, or may fade; Though tyrant kings or tyrant laws restrain,
A breath can make them, as a breath has made : How small, of all that human hearts endure, | But a bold peasantry, their country's pride, That part which laws or kings can cause or cure! When once destroy'd, can never be supplied. Still to ourselves in every place consign'd,
A time there was, ere England's griefs began, Our own felicity we make or find :
When ev'ry rood of ground maintain'd its man; With secret course, which no loud storms annoy, For him light labor spread her wholesome store, Glides the smooth current of domestic joy.
Just gave what life requir'd, but gave no more : The lifted ax, the agonizing wheel,
His best companions, innocence and health;
Along the lawn, where scatter'd hamlets rose,
And ev'ry want to luxury allied,
Those gentle hours that plenty bade to bloom,
And rural mirth and manners are no more. Seats of my youth, when ev'ry sport could please : Sweet Auburn! parent of the blissful hour, How often have I loiter'd o'er thy green,
Thy glades forlorn confess the tyrant's pow's.
Amidst thy tangling walks and ruin'd grounds, The shelter'd cot, the cultivated farm,
And, many a year elaps d, return to view The never failing brook, the busy mill,
Where once the cottage stood, the hawthorn grew The decent church that topt the neighb'ring hill, Remembrance wakes with all her busy train, The hawthorn bush, with seats beneath the shade, Swells at my breast, and turns the past to pain. For talking age and whisp'ring lovers made!
In all my wand'rings round this world of care, How often have I bless'd the coming day,
In all my griefs-and God has giv'n my shareWhen toil remitting lent its turn to play,
I still had hopes my latest hours to crown, And all the village train, from labor free,
Amidst these humble bow'rs to lay me down; Led up their sports beneath the spreading tree: To husband out life's taper at the close, While many a pastime circled in the shade,
And keep the flame from wasting, by repose : The young contending as the old survey'd;
I still had hopes, for pride attends us still, And many a gambol frolick'd o'er the ground, Amidst the swains to show my book-learn'd skill And sleights of art and feats of strength went round; | Around my fire an ev'ning group to draw, And still, as each repeated pleasure tir'd,
And tell of all I felt, and all I saw; Succeeding sports the mirthful band inspir'd. And, as a hare, whom hounds and horns pursue The dancing pair that simply sought renown, Pants to the place from whence at first she flew, By holding out to tire each other down ;
I still had hopes, my long vexations past, The swain mistrustless of his smutted face, Here to return—and die at home at last. While secret laughter titter'd round the place; O blest retirement, friend to life's decline, The bashful virgin's sidelong looks of love, Retreats from care, that never must be mine, The matron's glance that would those looks reprove: How blest is he who crowns, in shades like these These were thy charms, sweet village ! sports like A youth of labor with an age of ease; these
Who quits a world where strong temptations try With sweet succession, taught e'en toil to please ; And, since 'tis hard to combat, learns to fly! These round thy bow'rs their cheerful influence shed, For him no wretches, born to work and weep, These were thy charms—but all these charms are fled. Explore the mine, or tempt the dang'rous deep;
Sweet smiling village, loveliest of the lawn, No surly porter stands, in guilty state,
Angels around befriending virtue's friend;
And, all his prospects bright'ning to the last, Truth from his lips prevail'd with double sway, His heav'n commences ere the world be past. And fools, who came to scoff, remain'd to pray.
Sweet was the sound, when oft at ev'ning's close, The service past, around the pious man, Up yonder hill the village murmur rose;
With steady zeal, each honest rustic ran : There, as I pass'd with careless steps and slow, (Ev'n children follow'd, with endearing wile, The mingling notes came soften'd from below; And pluck'd his gown, to share the good man's The swain responsive as the milk-maid sung,
smile; The sober herd that low'd to meet their young; His ready smile a parent's warmth exprest, The noisy geese that gabbled o'er the pool,
Their welfare pleas'd him, and their cares distrest. The playful children just let loose from school : To them his heart, his love, his griefs, were giv'n, The watch-dog's voice that bay'd the whisp’ring But all his serious thoughts had rest in Heav'n. wind,
As some tall cliff, that lifts its awful form, And the loud laugh that spoke the vacant mind; Swells from the vale, and midway leaves the storm These all in sweet confusion sought the shade, Though round its breast the rolling clouds are spread, And fillid each pause the nightingale had made. Eternal sun-shine settles on its head. But now the sounds of population fail,
Beside yon straggling fence that skirts the way No cheerful murmurs fluctuate in the gale, With blossom'd furze, unprofitably gay, No busy steps the grass-grown footway tread, There, in his noisy mansion, skill'd to rule, But all the blooming flush of life is fled :
The village master taught his little school : All but yon widow'd, solitary thing,
A man severe he was, and stern to view, That feebly bends beside the plashy spring; I knew him well, and every truant knew; She, wretched matron, forc'd in age, for bread, Well had the boding tremblers learn'd to trace To strip the brook with mantling cresses spread, The day's disasters in his morning face; To pick her wintry fagot from the thorn,
Full well they laugh'd with counterfeited glee To seek her nightly shed, and weep till morn: At all his jokes, for many a joke had he; She only left of all the harmless train,
Full well the busy whisper, circling round, The sad historian of the pensive plain.
Convey'd the dismal tidings when he frown'd; Near yonder copse, where once the garden smil'd, Yet he was kind, or if severe in aught, And still where many a garden-flow'r grows wild, The love he bore to learning was in fault; There, where a few torn shrubs the place disclose, The village all declar'd how much he knew; The village preacher's modest mansion rose. 'Twas certain he could write and cipher too; A man he was to all the country dear,
Lands he could measure, terms and tides presage, And passing rich with forty pounds a year; And ev'n the story ran that he could gauge. Remote from towns he ran his godly race,
In arguing, too, the parson own'd his skill, Nor e'er had chang'd, nor wish'd to change his place; For ev'n though vanquish'd he could argue still; Unskilful he to fawn, or seek for pow'r,
While words of learned length, and thund'ring By doctrines fashion'd to the varying hour;
The long-remember'd beggar was his guest, Where many a time be triumph'd, is forgot.
inspir'd, Sat by his fire, and talk'd the night away; Where grey-beard mirth and smiling toil retir'd, Wept o'er his wounds, or, tales of sorrow done, Where village statesmen talk'd with looks profound Shoulder'd his crutch, and show'd how fields were And news much older than their ale went round; won.
Imagination fondly stoops to trace
The white-wash'd wall, the nicely-sanded floor, Careless their merits or their faults to scan, The varnish'd clock that click'd behind the door ; His pity gave ere charity began.
The chest contriv'd a double debt to pay, Thus to relieve the wretched was his pride, A bed by night, a chest of drawers by day; And ev'n his failings lean'd to virtue's side; The pictures plac'd for ornament and use, But in his duty prompt, at ev'ry call,
The twelve good rules, the royal game of goose ; He watch'd and wept, he pray'd and felt, for all: The hearth, except when winter chill'd the day, And, as a bird each fond endearment tries
With aspen boughs, and flowers, and fennel. To tempt its new-fledg'd offspring to the skies,
gay; He tried each art, reprov'd each dull delay, While broken tea-cups, wisely kept for show, Allur'd to brighter worlds, and led the way. Rang'd o'er the chimney, glisten'd in a row.
Beside the bed where parting life was laid, Vain transitory splendors! could not all And sorrow, guilt, and pain, by turns dismay'd, Reprieve the tott'ring mansion from its fall! The rev'rend champion stood. At his control, Obscure it sinks, nor shall it more impart Despair and anguish fled the struggling soul; An hour's importance to the poor man's heart; Comfort came down the trembling wretch to raise, Thither no more the peasant shall repair And his last falt'ring accents whisper'd praise. To sweet oblivion of his daily care;
At church, with meek and unaffected grace, No more the farmer's news, the barber's tale, His looks adorn'd the venerable place;
No more the woodman's ballad shall prevail,